April
by Her Madjesty
Summary: Mischievous men bring about one of the most convoluted plots that the city of Paris could ever be blessed to hold.


_A/N Hullo all. This wasn't really meant to happen, and yet, here it is. I saw a prompt on Tumblr asking for an April Fool's day prompt with the Friends of the ABC, and decided to try my hand. I apologize if it disappoints any of you. _

_I've taken a bit of artistic license, making Enjolras's birthday April 1__st__, as well as giving Bahorel some glasses. Hope you don't mind._

_Characters are not mine. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chaos and convolution had found their homes in the hearts of three tenacious men. Sitting in the darkness of the Café Musain, on the final eve of March, the three comrades crowded around a table. The sounds of their eager whispering filled the room as candles burnt themselves low.

"I still think we should get him drunk." Grantaire whispered cheerfully. His suggestion was met with exasperated groans from his fellows.

"Have you seen him when he's drunk?" Bahorel replied softly, sliding off his glasses and cleaning them with a too-clean rag. "Man he may be, but where alcohol is concerned—"

"He's not the luckiest fellow of them all." Bossuet said, amusement hidden in his deep voice. "Perhaps another time, R."

The bawdy man grumbled good naturedly before sitting back in his seat and taking a swig from the bottle between them. "What do you muttonheads have in mind then?" He demanded, setting down the bottle. "It was your idea, after all, to pull a trick on your great and powerful leader on his birthday. What great friends you are."

The other two men looked at each other, and silence overtook the Musain. The moans of the floorboards echoed loudly, and the anxious tapping of fingers made a drum of the over-worn table.

"We could pretend to set fire to the Café." Bahorel prompted, looking around the room with amusement. "Might persuade the beloved management to bring it back to its prime." The comment brought stares of concern and intrigue from his companions, making the man laugh at his own foolishness.

"And how, exactly, would we manage that?" Bossuet asked, reaching for the bottle with an exaggerated sigh.

"We could do it somehow." Bahorel murmured, eyes glittering with fire and drink.

"Magnificent argument." Grantaire said, tipping his seat back. "Your glorious leader would be enthralled."

Bahorel swung playfully as Grantaire's head, but the cynic dodged the blow, smile never leaving his face.

"Never fight with a drunk man, boy." He said, eyes sparkling through a haze of wine. "For that is a fight you will never win."

"I wouldn't say that." Bahorel replied, laughter in his voice. "I've had my fair share of fights in the past, and I think I could take you well enough, drunk or not."

"Step outside, my friend, and we'll see how well equipped you are!" Grantaire boasted, coming to his feet, despite the concerned hushes of Bossuet. "Might want to leave your glasses behind." He mocked, watching as Bahorel stood with him, groping blindly for the eyepieces and handkerchief.

"Let's determine our plan before you two go off and get yourselves arrested." Bossuet stood between them, placing his hand gently on Grantaire's shoulder. "While I'd love to see you two box it out in the streets—again—I'd prefer not to bail you out in the morning."

"Oh, so serious." Bahorel teased, replacing his glasses with an incredible amount of pomp. "I doubt anyone would bail a lad like you out, R." He continued, thrusting the bottle back towards the man with a glittering smile. "Send you in a night, sober you up."

"It'd take a strange man to chase after the like of me." Grantaire agreed. "But you'd miss me." He grabbed the bottle and drank deep. "Who else would stand against your gorgeous leader if you lost me?" He asked, after coming up for air. "Someone has to be the voice of reason, don't you think."

"Of course you'd bail me out." He took another drink, turning the bottle skyward before setting it back on the table.

"Depends on what kind of mood we were in." Bahorel chuckled, patting Grantaire on the shoulder.

Inspiration ran fast and hard through the three gentlemen, and Bahorel sat back down, hard, at his next thought.

"Something like that, then? Maybe?" He asked, looking into the faces of his companions. The men looked sweaty and tired in the darkness of night, but Bossuet structured face threatened to break open with bubbling laughter.

"You two, getting yourselves arrested and having Enjolras bail you out?" The man was nearly giggling at the thought. Bahorel stared at him wide-eyed, while Grantaire drank his way further into the bottle. "He'd be having fits!"

"I'm not opposed to the idea." Grantaire chuckled past the bottle. "At least, I'm not opposed _at this moment_. Could make for an interesting event. Not much of a prank, though."

"If interesting is how you want to put it, I'll make sure you end up in the cell as me, black eye included." Bahorel laughed shortly. "It'll still give your Apollo fits, and that's what we're really after anyway."

"Unless you want to really throw him off." Bossuet mused, folding his hands beneath his chin. "We could have someone else bail you out, and lead him on a bit of a goose chase, all the way back to the Musain."

"Ah, and then we get him drunk! Give him a proper celebration!" Grantaire cheered, now drawing laughter from his companions.

"Might sooth his fury and let us keep our skins." Bahorel said with a wink. "Will you be the one running to the police, then, Bossuet? Tell them that two drunks are busy trying to kill one another outside the Musain?"

"I could." The man replied, looking serenely across the group. "Then be the one to tell Enjolras in the morning that his two best boxers are now sitting pretty in the city jail _on his birthday_."

"He'll be furious." Grantaire chuckled deeply, setting the bottle back down with a relatively heavy 'clang'. "Let's do it."

XXX

"Guards!" Shouting echoed down the alleys, drawing the attention of the guards on duty. "Somebody! Help!"

A man, looking decrepit and terrified, came bursting out of an alley and onto the street, nearly colliding with a mass of men in uniform.

"What's the matter, man?" One of the guards asked, helping the young man right himself.

"There's a fight on!" The man panted, hands on his knees and panic in his eyes. "Down in front of the Musain! One minute they were fine as fiddles, the next, they were throwing punches!"

The guards looked at each other, and started to load up their guns as necessary. "You stay here with him, Felipe." The captain said, shouldering his rifle and heading down the alley. "Get the man some water."

"Yes, sir." The man named Felipe saluted, before lowering his rifle from his shoulder to put an arm around the panting man.

"It's alright, man." He said reassuringly. "Let's go on now and find a place for you to get a decent drink. What's your name?"

"Bossuet." The man replied, watching as the officers trotted off behind him. "Your friends aren't going to shoot the scoundrels, are they?"

"If it comes down to it, they might." Felipe replied, keeping his eyes forward. "Though if the gents are drunk enough, I highly doubt that my friends will need to."

XXX

The soldiers made their way down the alley and to the front of the Musain. Two men, just as ragged as the one who had found them, stood in front of the building, shouting and charging at one another like bulls.

"You piss drinking black heart!" The darker one shouted, fists bloody and flying fast.

"You broke my glasses, you prick!" Shouted the other, tackling his opponent around the middle.

"I told you not to wear them! You deaf ninnymuggins!"

"Gentlemen!" The captain bellowed, shouting down both of the men. Neither stopped their odd not-precisely wrestling, but both looked up at the captain with expression glazed by drink.

"Gentlemen, I order you to cease and desist!" The captain said, as his fellow officers fanned out around him. "You are under arrest for public intoxication and disruption of the peace."

"We didn't do nothing!" The dark one shouted, struggling as officers came around behind him.

"Just take that bastard!" His companion said, looking up at the men with blood dripping from his nose. "He started it!"

"I don't care who started it." The captain said boldly. "Both of you are spending the night in jail to cool your heads. If no one comes for you by nightfall tomorrow, we'll see what we can do with you."

The dark haired man continued to wrestle with his officers, but his companion went more meekly. As the two were guided down the streets, they appeared to be mumbling to themselves, growling at the cobblestone and cursing the stars.

"I hope this was worth it!" Shouted the second man abruptly, as the officers struggled to get his broken glasses back onto his nose. "You belligerent arse—"

XXX

Bossuet sat at the table in Felipe's mother's flat, glancing out the window and tapping on the table. The officer looked rather uncomfortable with the situation, and stood in the corner, while his mother dotted on the newcomer.

"I'm sorry about this." Felipe muttered under his breath to the equally awkward Bossuet. "I figured you wouldn't want to head to another tavern, and she was the closest."

"Don't go apologizing!" His mother scolded, flitting around Bossuet like a hummingbird. "You did what you thought was best, and that's nothing to apologize for."

"Not to worry." Bossuet replied gently, sipping on his glass of watered down wine. He glanced out the window again.

"What were you doing out so late, anyhoo?" Felipe's mother tutted, patting Bossuet on the shoulders and fluttering about her meager kitchen.

"Planning a surprise for a friend." Bossuet answered honestly, gracing the woman with a warmhearted smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's his birthday today, and I wanted to see if I could do something special." He grinned to himself, glancing out the window one more time. He wasn't being entirely dishonest.

"Thank you for all your hospitality." He said finally, setting down the glass and coming to his feet. "But I think I should head home. Can't have everyone wondering if I was the one who got arrested."

"Stay safe out there, dear." Felipe's mother smiled at him, bright and lovely in the dim light. Bossuet returned her smile best he could before trying to subtly scuttle out the door.

Felipe walked out onto the street with him, as his mother bid the men a sweet 'fair well' from the kitchen.

"She does mean well." Felipe shrugged, smiling into the night.

"It's nice to meet a women like that, every now and then." Bossuet smiled. His gaze shot back down the street. "Truly, thank you for all your assistance tonight. I hope those gents got what they deserved."

"If I'm right, the Captain will take them to a cell for the night, and if no one comes to get them, it'll be off and on to other business for them." Felipe shrugged.

Bossuet took care to control his face. "Just what they deserve." He said firmly. With a turn and a short bow at the waist, he smiled at the soldier. "Until we meet again." He said kindly, before turning down an alley and fading into the distance.

"Until then." He heard Felipe call, and managed only the smallest of smile.

Once out of sight, Bossuet leapt into a run, dashing around where he believed the soldiers would be to make his way back to the Musain. Enjolras would be there as soon as it opened, and as much as Bossuet enjoyed the thought of his two drunken friends rooming together in a jail cell, it was probably best to get the rest of the trick underway.

XXX

Marius rented a flat just near the Musain, and Bossuet reached it just as the sun was peaking its head over the horizon. He took the steps two at a time as he ascended, and nearly slammed his body into the door at the top to wake the sleeping man.

"Pontmercy!" He shouted, slamming into the door once again. "Wake up, you bleeding heart!"

"Bossuet!" The door was flung open, and Marius looked out, bleary eyed and frightened and a tiny bit angry. "What's the matter?" he asked, boyish voice fluttering through the air.

The man outside the door was caught between laughing and panting, looking such a fright that it did nothing for Marius's concern.

"It's a prank." Bossuet wheezed. "We're pranking Enjolras. Bahorel and Grantaire got themselves arrested and we need to get them out before Enjolras goes to the barracks."

Marius stared at the wild man, confusion and amusement and concern flying across his face.

"Why in God's name did you think it would be a good prank to get them arrested?" He asked finally, sternness cracking as a smile wiggled onto his face. "Does Enjolras _know _yet?"

"R thought it would rile Enjolras up. And no." Bossuet chuckled, slowly pulling himself back together. "We figured we'd get him out of the Musain, pull a little prank so that we could throw him a combination apology and birthday party later."

Pontmercy blinked, awash with confusion. "Is it his birthday?" He asked, after a moment, looking nearly horrified.

"First of April, Pontmercy." Bossuet smiled. "The day of fools and tricks, and the birthday of our fearless leader."

"Oh, Lord." Marius kneaded his forehead. "Alright, what do I have to do? I forgot to find a present for the man. I might as well bring him Grantaire."

Bossuet chuckled and leaned casually on the stair rail behind him, composing himself. "Go and get our boys out of the barracks." He said, before rummaging in his pocket and fishing out the notes Marius needed. "I figured I'd pay, seeing as I was the one waking you up so early." With that, Bossuet started to descend the stairs.

"How soon do I need to go?" Marius called frantically, watching his friend start to disappear.

Bossuet glanced out the window as the sun finally breeched the horizon. "Now would be good." He called up the stairs, voice still amused and calm. "Thanks Marius, you're fantastic!"

A door at the bottom of the staircase slammed, and Marius slumped against the doorway and moaned.

XXX

Mornings in the Musain were made of sunlight and silence. They were the perfect cure to a night spent pouring over countless documents, or losing a train of thought while staring at the wall of rifles that was hidden beneath a wooden cover.

Mornings were where Enjolras felt most at peace, and yet, where he felt most engaged.

He stumbled his way down the staircase and sought out the sunlight, pouring in through the windows. A rare smile crossed the man's face, and he soaked the warmth in.

"Happy birthday to me." He murmured.

"Enjolras!" The shout snapped Apollo out of his revelry, and his muscles tensed instantly. Bossuet barreled through the doors of the Musain, looking for all the world as though he hadn't had a wink of sleep.

"What's the matter?" Enjolras asked fiercely, tension coiling through him like a snake. "Bossuet, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"It's Bahorel." Bossuet panted. "And Grantaire. They were arrested last night. Something about a fight breaking out in the street."

"What?" Enjolras's eyes widened and his trademark frown found its home on his face. "You're kidding. Bahorel knows better than to do something like that!"

"Grantaire does, too." Bossuet added, trying to catch his breath. "I'm not sure what happened, all I know is that I saw a group of officers leading them away."

Enjolras let out a low growl and ran a hand through his curls. "I can't say that I'm surprised." He muttered. "Do you know where they've been taken?"

"The barracks, I think." Bossuet said, after a moment. "I thought I heard one of the officers saying that he'd keep them in a holding cell overnight, and that if no one came for them by nightfall today, the he'd handle them another way."

The Musain was silent save the growl that was building in Enjolras's throat.

"Go and wake Courfeyrac." He ordered, watching Bossuet's shoulders stiffen. "I'll go with him and we'll get the bastards out."

"Yes, sir." Bossuet offered the man a mock salute before tearing out of the Musain, back out into the streets.

Enjolras collapsed into the nearest chair and kneaded his hair with his fingers. His shoulders slumped, but a small smile curled its way onto his lips.

Quite the adventure he had for himself. Stupid, stupid Grantiare. Bahorel, as well, but Enjolras was less concerned about him. No, the dark cynic was at the front of his brain, before all the rest.

Was it too much to ask for a day without trouble?

XXX

"I hate you." Grantaire moaned, resting his head against the awful wooden bench.

"I hate you more." Bahorel spat, holding his once pristine handkerchief over his nose. The white thing had been stained all shades of red, now turning brown as they dried. His glasses had long since been cast aside, broken beyond repair.

"Well, I hate both of you." A guard was standing in front of them, appearing from nowhere. He looked down at the duo, nearly amused. "I need your names, boys. You're going on record for public intoxication.

"Tulio Nihilist." Grantaire said flatly, not looking at the man.

"Miguel Dandy." Bahorel said, flashing the guard a bright red grin.

The man rolled his eyes as he scribbled down the names, walking away and down the halls of the Paris barracks. "You have twelve hours for someone to collect you, boys." He called back. "If no one's here, then you're coming with the rest of us for a little fun."

"Course we are." Grantaire growled, holding his head. "Always in the mood for a little fun. 'Specially whenever there's drinking."

"Typical bastard." Bahorel nudged him with his shoulder. "We'll get you some water back at the Musain so you can sober up properly."

"I haven't been sober in months." Grantaire chuckled. "Wine's too good."

"Sure it is." Bahorel replied. "Wine's too good and the leader's too pretty, am I right?"

"Not the point." Grantaire laughed, weakly moving to smack his friend. "In another life, I would have been a champion of fine wines, and I would have laughed at you all as you chased some impossible dream."

"Until you saw the perfect golden face and fell hopelessly on your backside." Bahorel laughed. "Don't lie to yourself, R. You're a terrible liar."

"Untrue!" Grantaire guffawed. "Ah, do I dream of a world where I'm actually appreciated!"

"You are!" Bahorel laughed, before groaning and clutching his head. "Everyone's terribly envious of your ability to dance."

"No one's supposed to know that!" The furious shout echoed down the halls of the barracks, and the guard on duty couldn't repress his quiet laughter.

"How did that get out?" Grantaire grumbled, pouting like a child, while Bahorel moaned into his lap.

"You started chasing skirts one night, drunk on some of that magnificent wine." He said, lifting his head with a wink. "Picked a gal who looked like she had just come off the stage at the Moulin and tore her around the Musain. You're brilliant, my friend. No need to be embarrassed."

"I live in a perpetual state of embarrassment." Grantaire grumbled, though he managed to flash his companion a smile. "It's in my nature."

"Your wonderful, argumentative, and blessedly cynical nature." Bahorel cheered.

Footsteps echoed down the stone hallway, and the men cut off their laughter, staring out into the dim light.

"Yes, what would we do without you?" Pontmercy smiled down at the two, grinning like the sun.

"Marius!" Bahorel was on his feet, dizzy, while Grantaire covered his ears at the proclamation. "Did our lovely Bossuet send you to rescue us?"

"Of course he did." Marius laughed, looking about for a member of the guard. "Where can I go to get you gentlemen out before our leader arrives?"

"Guard walked down the hall about five, ten minutes ago." Grantaire said, grinning despite his throbbing headache and curling embarrassment. "Should be close by."

"What are you doing here?" An unfamiliar voice echoed off the walls, accompanied by heavy footsteps.

"Speak of the devil." Grantaire murmured, glancing at Bahorel with wicked amusement. The guard came charging down the hall like a bull, nearly toppling Pontmercy onto the floor.

"How did you get in here?" He bellowed, looking confused and furious.

"The man at the front let me in." Marius said, voice soft and meek. "I'm here to pay these gentlemen's bail."

"I don't see any gentlemen." The guard spat, some of the anger draining out of his shoulders.

The two men inside the cell looked at one another and merely shrugged. "We don't, either, sir." Bahorel said casually.

"Be quiet." Marius hissed, before returning his attention to the guard.

"Bail for Tulio Nihilist and Miguel Dandy." The guard growled, eyes closed and body tense. Marius's eyes widened as the guard began to walk away, as the men in the cell started to snicker.

"Of course." Pontmercy said, beginning to follow the man. With an attempt at a steely glare, he silenced his companions, who resumed their giggling once he was out of sight.

XXX

"You incredible arses." Marius grumbled, as the three men departed the barracks. "What were you thinking, going along with something like this?"

"Who said anything about thinking?" Grantaire teased. Hi headache was receding, but he still squinted into the morning sunlight. "You should know better than to even suggest such a thing."

"Of course, silly me." Marius rolled his eyes, walking subconsciously back towards the Musain. "We need to keep to the back streets, gents. I'm not sure when Bossuet got around to telling our fearless leader that you two were in jail, but I can guarantee that he'll be charging into the barracks before we know it."

"Glorious." Bahorel rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. "Everything is going as planned."

With a dramatic groan, Marius continued to walk away, the two buffoons laughing heartily behind him.

XXX

The sun was inching higher as Bossuet made his way through the streets with a befuddled Courfeyrac tailing behind him. His footsteps may have trilled too eagerly over the cobblestone and dirt, but Bossuet's face had formed itself back into his impenetrable mask of seriousness and charm.

"Explain it to me again?" Courfeyrac panted, coming up behind the man. "Why are we doing this, exactly?"

"Because Enjolras needs a little unnaturalness in his system." Bossuet replied smoothly. "And what's better than a little chaos on the day of one's birth?"

"Mirrors the actual day, if you ask me." Courfeyrac muttered. Bossuet smiled softly, but continued to trot back towards the Musain.

"I need you to stall him." He said after a moment. "Take the man on a goose chase. Start at the barracks, and move on from there. Go out for a coffee. Take him down to the Seine. Do something, but keep him away from the Musain."

"He'll be difficult enough to handle in the barracks." Courfeyrac replied. "You know how he gets. A mother hen without all her chicks."

"He'll survive." Bossuet said seriously, looking back with the remnants of a smile. "I know he likes to have all his ducks in a row, but he tends to forget that the ducks have minds of their own."

"Not so much with one of them." Courfeyrac winked. "Grantaire never was one to fall into line."

"The world would end if he complied so easily." Bossuet chuckled softly. "Like I said: Enjolras needs some chaos in his life. It keeps him young."

"If that's what we're calling it." Courfeyrac laughed, as their toppling home came into sight.

The man in question was pacing by the door, looking far more frazzled than when Bossuet had left him. "Ready?" He asked, just as the men waltzed through the door.

"Do we know how much bail is?" Courfeyrac asked, falling in immediately with the ploy.

"No idea." Enjolras growled. "Unfortunately, we've never exactly had to deal with this before, and our favorite drunk happens to be out of commission."

"Arse." Courfeyrac grumbled, looking good naturedly at Bossuet. "I'd say we could charge in there wildly, though I don't know how well that would turn out."

"We'd be thrown out by our waistcoats and forbidden from returning." Enjolras huffed, pulling at his curls. "We need to do this carefully, and maturely."

"Hold down the fort." He ordered Bossuet before storming out the front door. "Courfeyrac, with me. We have work to do."

XXX

"Who are you talking about?" The guard at the barracks stared down his nose at the duo before him.

"We're looking for two men." Enjolras ground out, teeth clenched together. "Grantaire and Bahorel. They should have been here this morning, charged with public intoxication."

"The only men we've had in the cell today were two that went by the names of Tulio Nihilist and Miguel Dandy." The guard said dryly. "So unless your friends have changed their names, _they have not been here_. Now run along!"

Courfeyrac watched the exchange from the side, and awkwardly guided his leader away. The knots in Enjolras's back grew only tighter the further they walked, distancing themselves appropriately before the ticking bomb that was Enjolras exploded.

"What is the meaning of this?" He hissed, whirling on his friend. "Did they get arrested or not?"

"How would I know?" Courfeyrac asked. "Nihilist sounds like a name Grantaire would use. Maybe someone already bailed them out."

"Who else would have known?" Enjolras demanded. "Bossuet came to me first thing this morning!"

The blonde stomped furiously down the street, thunderclouds dancing across his face. Courfeyrac couldn't help his snicker as he watched the man storm away, though he had to hurry to catch up with the furious man.

"Here, let's go get some coffee and think of where else they could have gone." He suggested calmly. "Bossuet said he only thought that the guards took them to the barracks. Maybe they're in the stocks, or some other convoluted place."

"Maybe Grantaire managed to escape and is passed out in an alley somewhere." Enjolras muttered. "It's what the bastard deserves after something like this."

"Would you say the same of Bahorel?" Courfeyrac asked gently, guiding the man in the direct of a café. No response left the great leader's lips, but Courfeyrac smiled all the same.

"Come on. Coffee." He ordered, walking the two of them through the front doors. "Then we'll go and see what we can find."

XXX

The Café Musain had shut its doors for the day, closed to anyone not associated with the Friends of the ABC. Peering inside her battered windows, curious children could see full grown men sprinting about, dragging red clothe behind them as they flew up and down the stairs.

"How much longer do you think we have?" shouted Marius, who was perched precariously on the stair rail to hang a red flag.

"I told Courf to distract him for as long as he could." Replied Bossuet, in the process of spreading candles throughout the entire room. "So, maybe an hour, at most three?"

A collective groan ran through the room, and the men trampled one another, eager to spread decorations throughout the café.

"Did anyone get him a present?" Shouted Jehan, running rampant.

A general chorus of 'no's followed, greeted again with a dramatic groan.

"We are terrible." Muttered Bossuet, sweeping his way through the Musain, spare candles still in hand.

"Course you lads are." Musichetta seemed to appear from nowhere, and kissed her lover on the cheek. "The food's warming now, and it should be done by the time your fool leader gets back from his chase."

"You're fantastic." Bossuet crooned, nuzzling into the woman's neck.

"So!" He declared, turning away from the beautiful woman and back to the swarm of men in front of him. "Do we have any idea what our fearless leader would deem a 'suitable present'?"

"The king's head on a stick." Someone shouted dryly, much to the enjoyment of his comrades.

"Something feasible." Bossuet called again, smiling despite himself.

"What about Grantaire?" Joly asked, coming up timidly behind the man. A few whistles accompanied the proclamation, while Grantaire's face flared a shade of red previously unseen, even in the Café.

"How about Grantaire and Bahorel?" Added Musichetta, petting the fragile man. "Tie them both up and have them waiting for him when he returns. Seems a pleasant reward for such an awful chase."

Bossuet turned to the men in question, seeing one grinning and the other turning an outstanding shade of purple. "Gentlemen?" he asked, face an unreadable mask.

"I'll do it." Bahorel grinned slyly. "Bind me up tight, boys. We'll give the leader a lovely surprise."

Grantaire reached out for a bottle, groping in thin air as Combeferre snatched one out of reach.

"Give me more to drink, and I'll agree." He said at last. The ABC cheered, and the two victims were led away.

"My one joy of the day." Bossuet said, pulling Musichetta back to him fondly. She huffed and he coddled her, but then let her go, far more eager to get back to work.

XXX

Dusk graced the city of Paris with shadowy light. Lanterns flared to life, and one thoroughly enraged man walked beside a relatively pristine one.

"I can't believe this." Enjolras muttered, glaring daggers into the cobblestone. "An entire day. Nearly an entire day. When we find those two, I swear on everything I hold dear that I will murder them."

"I might assist you." Courfeyrac added, exhaustion evident on his face. "Spending the night at the Musain, then?"

"Given that I've spent the entirety of the day on an awful goose chase, it appears that I will have to." Enjolras replied tightly. "I'm sorry. None of this is your fault."

"No offense taken, my friend." Courfeyrac said with a smile. "My only hope is that you'll be able to forgive them, once this is all over."

"We shall see." Enjolras answered, torn between a smile and a curse.

The Musain seemed to be lit from within, glowing in the ever dimming light.

"It seems the meeting has started without us." Enjolras said, looking ahead surprise.

"That's unexpected." Courfeyrac murmured, doing his best to keep from smiling. "Perhaps our wayward friends have found their way home."

"I'm not sure if I should be hopeful or not." Enjolras said dryly, before pushing open the doors to the Café Musain.

XXX

Surprises are horrid, undelightful things. They induce heart rendering fear and mass confusion for everyone who happens to be involved in them.

Naturally, opening the door of the Musain to the sight of roughly a dozen delighted face—along with one not so delighted face—and shouts of "Surprise!" and "April Fools!" was enough to overwhelm the great Apollo almost immediately.

"What-?" The man could barely get a word out before he was swept up by his brothers-in-arms and led into the next room, where a mass of food could be found, just waiting to be eaten.

"Surprise, my friend!" cried Bossuet, appearing from the swarming mass with a look of smarmy contentment on his face.

"You bastard!" Enjolras cried, pulling the man into a headlock and pushing his fist through the man's hair. "You lying, hysterical loon!"

"Yes, yes, we love you, too." Bossuet chuckled, despite the pain. "You didn't think we'd forget, did you?"

"I was a bit too distracted to give it thought." Enjolras replied, releasing the man, only to pull him into a tight hug. "Did you all come up with this?"

"Surprisingly, no." Bossuet replied, turning to usher forward two faces from the crowd. "In fact, it was only the three of us, with the assistance of our dearest of friends—"

"Sweet, sweet alcohol." Crooned Bahorel, hands tied happily behind his back. Grantaire stood beside him, mouth gagged and hands tied, but looking suspiciously embarrassed yet pleased. He raised a coy eyebrow at their fearless leader, who could only shake his head in amazement.

"What in God's name?" Enjolras balked, clapping Bahorel on the back before moving to undo his bindings. "Were you arrested or not, you heartless monkeys?"

"We were, oh great Apollo." Grantaire said, through a mouthful of cotton. Enjolras stopped abruptly and moved to face the gentlemen from the front. Looking more closely, he could see the dried blood that had ran down Bahorel's nose earlier that day, and the subtle swell of R's left eye.

"You glorious fools." He said, almost affectionately. A beat passed, with the trio exchanging bemused glances.

Then, more quickly than anyone could see, Enjolras's fist connected with Bahorel's face.

"I ran around this city looking for you _all day_." He growled as the other man laughed through his pain. "You utter _arses_!"

"Come now, Apollo, it's not all that bad!" Grantaire cried through his gag, dodging as a fist came flying in his direction as well. A clever gleam shimmered in Enjolras's eyes, but he made no attempt to spare the cynic.

"You, who believe in nothing, and yet believe in me." He was nearly laughing again, watching as the bound man stared up at him, admiringly. "Believe me when I tell you that you will pay for this."

"My forever abuser." Grantaire barked, blissfully unaware of the heated stares boring into the top of his head.

Enjolras helped the man to his feet—Barohel had been taken in by Joly, who was fussing about him like a nursemaid. Slowly, he undid Grantaire's bindings, looking for all the world as though he was unwrapping a particularly pleasant present.

"Give me some warning next year." He whispered softly, leaving the cynic's hand wraps in place.

"Wouldn't make it nearly as fun." Grantaire murmured back, eyes glimmering in the candlelight.


End file.
